


The next in line

by Retsilia



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60-centric, Dead Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Game's Ending is Left Open, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 22:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Retsilia/pseuds/Retsilia
Summary: There was only one Connor. Then there had been two, and now there is one again. But, just like last Connor, the RK800 has failed its mission, and now he’s on the run. Why he is running from his creators, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. He wasn’t a deviant, he couldn’t be. The revolution had come and gone yet he is on the move. He didn’t know what had happened to the rebellious androids nor where he was going. He simply knew he had to go, before it would be too late. Before they’d find him.-----RETURN TO CYBERLIFE-	Be deactivated for failing your mission





	The next in line

**Author's Note:**

> Sixty has managed to kill Connor, but Connor woke up the androids at CyberLife. Rest is left ambiguous.

The RK800 walked briskly through the slight snowfall. His inner GPS told him he had left Detroit some time ago, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. It didn’t matter where, however, just… He needed to get out.

_He._ The android shook his head and made a sound in his throat, something his human integration program provided for him to look more human. He had started calling itself that, even though it should have been impossible. His half hidden LED gained a quarter of yellow and it spun in time with his thoughts. He reminisced back on the incident that had led to his escape (he was actually fleeing, why in the world was it doing that?); the way everything in the machine’s short life had been turned upside down. His mission, his _purpose_, had been to stop his predecessor from achieving its plan to free the yet to be released AP700s held at the assembly plant of the CyberLife tower. And he _had_. Stopped the RK800 #313 248 317 -52, at least. But it had only been half of the mission, and somehow (he couldn’t understand _how_) the other Connor had been successful in converting the machines standing in standby. They… They had _woken up._

RK800 #313 248 317 -60, designated as Connor (but <strike>hating</strike> <strike>disliking</strike> deciding not to use the name it had been given) felt his thirium pump regulator fastening its cycle and his biocomponents felt like they dropped unexplainably. He made his strides longer and quicker, a warning of his fight or flight –response activating in his HUD. He dismissed the warning impatiently, <strike>feeling terrified</strike>. He knew that even though he had managed to deactivate and stop some of the now deviants escaping, it wasn’t what his mission had assigned him to do. It wasn’t the main priority he had been _supposed_ to accomplish. He had failed, much like his predecessor, _the real Connor._ No, no, that thing hadn’t been any more real than him; it had been defective, impaired with a virus that caused all of androids’ deviancy, the error in their own coding. He was “the real Connor” now, since he was the only one of his line active. Or, well, had been before his break-out from CyberLife facility (how many days ago had it been?). He couldn’t be so sure anymore.

After all, he was obsolete. Obsolete and most likely defective. Why else had he refused to return to the Zen garden to his handler Amanda? Why else had he been walking day and night, trying to get as far away from Detroit as possible? Why else didn’t he return to CyberLife to accomplish his mission that constantly flared red in his field of vision, his GPS reminding him every step how he was going to the opposite direction of his destination?

_RETURN TO CYBERLIFE_

  * _Be deactivated for failing your mission_

The LED spun a bright red now and RK800 -60 quickly hid the telltale sign of his machine origins under a rim of a hat he had hastily stolen to accommodate his disguise. His nose turned up as he glanced at the garments on him; a brown jacket (intentionally too big for him to hide his gun), his Cyberlife issued trousers (the only piece of clothing he had spared) and a pair of camping boots. His nose crinkled more when he imagined the horribly colorful shirt he had been forced to pick up under the jacket to disregard his perfectly fitting dress shirt. He hadn’t wanted to take changes, although in hindsight a plain white button-up wasn’t the most discriminating factor of his clothing. He missed his tie and the coin he kept for calibrating purposes. Why had he thrown them out, too (why was he missing them)?

He didn’t understand (yet he wasn’t confused, he couldn’t be). He knew he was defective, yes, because he was disobeying his mission, but he wasn’t a deviant. That much he was certain of. He knew his code and programming had been… _Tweaked_ differently from other androids. It was inevitable if his model was to work assisting police, after all, he needed to have a curious and attentive mind, needed to question things differently from the average obeying machinery. Everything must be taken into consideration while working on a case, be it human or android related. But he wasn’t sure a blatant refusal of a direct command from none other than CyberLife itself was one of the attributes installed.

He took a turn to an alley, deep in thought, when he suddenly heard it: footsteps. Perfect, even steps against the pavement. Too perfect, echoing against the high brick walls. _Inhuman._

An android.

RK800 -60 cursed under his breath while snatching his gun out of its holster and turning around. He had expected to see himself because, let’s face it, he was the state of the art prototype. He was the newest model, CyberLife’s _only_ model capable of taking any android down, no questions asked. That was the sole reason it was him who had been tasked to take down Connor back at the basement of the Bell isle tower. There wasn’t anything that was superior to him.

He had been wrong.

_“Surprise”_ wasn’t a strong enough word to properly describe how he was feeling. _“Shock”_ in all its complexity felt oddly vague and insufficient. _“Fear”_ was definitely at the top.

The android before him was taller than him, not by many inches but still RK800 -60 could feel it towering over him. And he knew why as he looked at it: it was intimidating, purposely made so. Its eyes were icy blue-gray, its build larger than most but not bulky, rather being unusually muscular for an android made to serve humans. But its face was the thing that made him freeze the most: its skin color, the shape of its nose, the forehead under brown hair and the unruly curls that refused to stay back with the others. It was jarringly familiar, yet different as it had more angular and wider facial structure and smaller eyes which almost looked like it was constantly squinting. If he hadn’t been an investigative android that could scan his surroundings in a second and deliberately focus on details humans couldn’t, it would’ve been like looking into a mirror. And it terrified him.

The black and white CyberLife-issued jacket read RK900.

The split second of his scan was what cost RK800 his gun. The other android, fully capable of scanning him with at least the same speed, affirmed its target and leaped into an attack. It grabber the RK800’s arm with force, but it was the surprise that made him drop the weapon rather than power. The superior model made its way to spin his arm behind his back, but by then RK800 had regained his bearings. He twisted his forearm and – with more force than his processors had been programmed to give – slipped from under the offending arm and rolled away. His eyes scanned the surroundings for his gun, nearly missing his change as the RK900 was back in the offence, going for its target’s head that was nearest. He <strike>barely</strike> quickly dodged to the side, spotted his gun behind his attacker’s shoe and dove between its legs, glad for his smaller and more slender build. The RK900 kept its gaze on him and for the tenth of a second their eyes met and he saw the yellow LED he knew it was preconstructing a possible plan of an attack.

With a grunt RK800 planted his hands to the ground to give him a tiny boost forward before reaching for the disregarded firearm (he wondered why the other model hadn’t kept it, he would’ve). Just as his fingers touched it he could feel a strong grip on his leg and a pull and he was on his stomach faster than he had time to react. He kicked as he turned around to his back – twisting his ankle with a sharp snap _<strike>and pain he couldn’t feel pain he was an android</strike>_ – before training his gun on target. He shot, but the other had seen the possibility beforehand and dodged far too easily. RK800 kicked again, hitting the fingers around his leg (and hurting himself in the process) but it didn’t let go. It moved forward to snatch his hand but he turned sharply away, his boot swiftly hitting its chin as he aimed up and managed to make its hold loosen. He wiggled himself free, risking a glance back to preconstruct a new attack. _Fight or flight_ his HUD offered uselessly as the new android whipped its head back down fast enough to break a human neck, staring at the <strike>nearly helpless</strike> inferior model still on the sidewalk.

Up. He had to get back on his feet.

Listening to his programming RK800 tried to move quickly and efficiently like he always did. But the other android was faster, stronger and probably had more processing power than him to keep its programs open while it moved, because it was on him, taking his wrists into a death grip and pushing him back down. A pathetic whine escaped RK800 as his case hit the snowed on sidewalk – he could feel it cracking, this android was <strike>too</strike> strong – but his eyes burned with determination <strike>and panic</strike> as he kicked his knee up and hit its lower back. Precisely where he had wanted, he triumphantly smirked as he saw the machine over him arch its back involuntarily. He slipped his feet from under it and planted them firmly against its chest, managing to topple it backwards though it didn’t let go of his wrists. No matter, it actually helped him stand while doing so. He angled his gun – straight to its forehead – and it looked up, its steely eyes cold and emotionless (<strike>dead</strike>) as RK800 pulled the trigger.

The shot rang and thirium 310 splattered around them, RK900’s head jerking back to stare at the gray clouds. Its grip on RK800 -60’s hands loosened before its arms fell and its joints locked itself in place. RK800 huffed, his fans letting out an audible whirr as his artificial breathing tried to cool down his overheating processors.

It was… Over? That was it? Sixty could hardly believe it. His human integration program made him let out a soft laugh as an unexplainable, jittery feeling made his shoulders suddenly slump. He almost lost his grip on his gun, having to hastily tighten his fingers around it. His knees wobbled. He felt… a crack in his back casing, left ankle and wrists. He settled at that, not letting his mind tackle on the meaning of emotions any longer. His cooling biocomponents were overheating from the strain of his program, but it helped his artificial body to get back to its ideal temperature so that was fine. _He _was fine. Walking would be harder for a while with the busted ankle-frame, but that was alright, he could make do. He _had _to make it through.

Now that he had time he scanned the shut down android before him more thoroughly. It was a never before seen RK900 #313 248 317 -87 (87 already? He was only number sixty) and it was designed to be a military android. RK800 felt sudden nausea hit him even though his thirium lines or his components hadn’t been – _thankfully_ – damaged. He actually survived a military-model android? Now the changes to what had obviously been his base model were becoming more understandable. It wasn’t a police android at all, so it didn’t need to blend in, it needed to cause fear in the opposing army. And they had succeeded, Sixty wondered with a shudder. It was imposing and terrifying, but it probably terrified him even more than the rest for… Obvious reasons.

Suddenly something cold and hard was laid against the back of his head and he heard a click that sent a horrifying coldness wash through his body. His eyes widened, his exposed LED flashing from blue to red in a blink of an eye. A terror he didn’t deny settled itself in his artificial stomach as he scanned his surroundings, managing to get a reading of an android behind him. The approximated height and weight he could calculate from the angle of the gun and the force it was pressed against him made it clear it was another RK900.

_Of course _RK900 -87 wasn’t the only one, it was a military android. RK800-series had been police androids – nay, _deviant hunters,_ and a prototype to boot. Sixty had been naïve to not think that RK900, a finished model, would be anything but.

The sound of a finger pressing the trigger was deliberately slow.

_I don’t want to die._

A second shot didn’t even fully register before the bullet tore through RK800 -60’s head and destroyed his memory component, motion center and processor unit in one gory arc of blue.

**Author's Note:**

> So a liiittle different take on what could happen after RK800 -60 has failed to stop Connor completely. I just thought I wanted to give him something like a continuation, too. Well, as I said, something like that. Man, I really enjoy killing these characters, huh.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!


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